


the air is fried and on fire

by orphan_account



Series: we're on a quick, sick rampage [15]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Bitty Torture, Bitty abuse, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Torture, Other, burn injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 14:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bittybones are supposed to be the perfect pets, but they come with a difficult flaw... they go into heat, and they desire their owners.This condition can be remedied, but it isn't cheap. Luckily, you've got a garage full of tools and your own steady hands.





	the air is fried and on fire

**Author's Note:**

> Last warning-- this is a bittybones abuse and torture story. Please do not read further if you are disturbed by this kind of content.

You really hadn’t wanted a bittybones in your home— you’d never liked them, always been a little freaked out by the naked bones and the semblance of sentience that edged the critters into the uncanny valley. Unfortunately, your spouse had sided with your daughter on that argument, and a bitty in your home was what you got.  
  
You hadn’t cared much which type she got, on that initial trip to Bitty Buddies, but you’d put your foot down on the red ones with the sharp fangs that violently growled when they’d noticed you looking at them. You’d also tried to subtly steer her away from the bright blue ones that wouldn’t stop jumping up and down in their cage, sensing that you’d never sleep again if she brought one of those home.  
  
In the end, she chose what you thought was the least awful of a bad bunch— a stringy little guy in some sort of military costume, called himself “Papy,” who spent the entire car ride home yapping loudly about... well, basically nothing. The bitty asked a lot of questions, mostly asking Leslie things like her favorite food, or her favorite game to play. You thought it could have turned out a lot worse, and your spouse had sworn up and down that you wouldn’t have to have anything to do with the creepy little bitty except paying for it, so you kept quiet and let Leslie have her fun.  
  
You’d thought that she would eventually grow tired of Papy, as she did with everything else, but six months later she was still bringing it everywhere except to school. If you wanted to talk to her alone, you had to specifically TELL her “No Papy,” and then she’d look at you like you were insane before complying. Honestly, the tiny skeleton still made your skin crawl, and you avoided it as much as possible, even though you felt it was damaging your relationship with your daughter.  
  
That had been the state of affairs in your household, until last night— or, well, very early this morning, when Leslie had woken you up by sprinting into your room. “Mom! Dad! Papy... he’s doing something really weird!” she sobbed, terrified. You grumbled and nudged your spouse with your shoulder; bitty problems weren’t your department. Moments later, you had almost fallen back asleep, when you were summoned out of bed by another startled scream. This one came from your significant other, and you jolted awake and out of bed, determined to figure out what the damned bitty was doing that had them both so scared.  
  
You hadn’t been ready for what you found. You probably could never have been ready for what you found.  
  
Leslie was in the hall outside her room, looking freaked out and worried in turns. Your spouse exited the room looking pale and confused, and had only asked you to “take care of it, please.”  
  
Papy’s cage was on Leslie’s desk, and the bitty was inside, as it always was at night. You’d thought it for the best that you not meet your child’s pet wandering the house when you got up to get a glass of water. It had worked out so far, but... what was he doing in there?  
  
“What the actual fuck,” you murmured aloud, inching closer to get a better look and confirm your suspicions. Yeah, this was... actually happening.  
  
Papy had apparently sprouted glowing orange genitals during the night, and they weren’t the equipment you’d thought the masculine-looking bitty would have. Papy was also on his knees in the middle of the cage, completely bare of his clothing, and masturbating himself like his life depended on it. Leslie must have been woken by the noise, you thought, wincing at the loud, pleading moans coming from the bitty as it shoved three skeletal fingers inside its... glowing orange vagina. “God damn it,” you cursed quietly, trying to formulate a plan for possibly the weirdest situation you’d ever been dragged into. Okay, it couldn’t stay in here, you knew that much.  
  
You grabbed a loose blanket off of Leslie’s bed— the kid liked to sleep with tons of them, she wouldn’t miss this one. You used it to cover the cage, and grabbed the whole unpleasant bundle into your arms. Papy could spend the night in the garage, and you’d figure out what the hell to do with it tomorrow. You left the room and LOUDLY instructed your family to go back to bed, Papy isn’t feeling well, he needs to sleep by himself tonight, any platitudes you could get out to cover the noises coming from the cage you carried. You placed the whole bundle, blanket and all, on top of one of the garage shelves, and barely restrained yourself from slamming the door that led back inside. What in the hell had that been about?  
  
You felt slightly vindicated in your initial misgivings about bitties, but that still left you with an epic ton of questions, and a horny little problem hanging out next to the tool set and weed killer. Google had always served you well in times of confusion, so you sat down at your desk in the family room and did some research.  
  
Apparently, a not-insignificant number of bitties came with a... flaw. You couldn’t help but think those sick corporate fucks at Bitty Buddies had acted purposefully, but that was beside the point. Some bitties, at random times and with random triggers, went into heat— basically, they acted like unfixed cats, and demanded sexual satisfaction. The company’s site made this sound perfectly normal, but you were horrified at the idea of a MANUFACTURED pet being created with this possibility ingrained. Didn’t these freaks know that kids were one of their biggest demographics?  
  
Even so, the site did offer a solution. The explanation compared the procedure to spaying or neutering a cat or dog, and informed you that it could be “safely performed at any Bitty Buddies store.” That was a relief, you thought sleepily, and continued scrolling down the page, until— if you’d had a drink at the time, you’d have spit it all over the computer monitor. You did not have five hundred dollars to throw away on fixing Leslie’s toy. The damn thing had barely even cost more than that on its own, and now the greedy bastards wanted more money to make sure it didn’t scar your child for life?  
  
You didn’t WANT to take away her favorite toy, but you couldn’t let Leslie keep Papy if this was something it was going to do on a regular basis. There had to be... SOMETHING you could do that would fix the bitty without making your daughter upset.  
  
You clicked around the Bitty Buddies site for a few more minutes, hoping that maybe their warranty covered the “procedure.” You didn’t find that, unfortunately, but you did find an informative video. A pretty brunette woman in a lab coat  
  
“Hi, I’m Dr. Sara Cooper with Bitty Buddies, and this is my helper today.” She held up one of those energetic blue-themed bitties that you’d tried to avoid at the store— this one seemed a bit out of it, though. “He’s a brand-new Baby Blue bitty, and in this video we’re going to show you how we make sure your bittybones friend is heat-free! This option can be purchased at any time after you’ve brought home your bitty, so contact your nearest BB store to schedule the procedure.”  
  
The camera cut to the bitty apparently asleep on a medical table. The doctor continued offscreen, “The bitty is first anesthetized and made to fall into a deep sleep. This prevents it from feeling pain, but also prevents any accidents caused by moving around during the operation.” Now the doctor’s hand appeared, and splayed out the bitty’s legs. In her other hand, she held a small metal tool. It looked a lot like a pen, but the writing tip was glowing as if it were very hot. “We use this cauterizing device all around the pubic arch and ischial spines, and on the sacrum area as well, to disrupt the flow of magic and prevent formation of ecto-flesh in this area, ensuring that your bitty will not experience heat.”  
  
You watched intently as the doctor traced the bitty’s lower pelvis, basically the lower “hole” in the large bone, with the hot tool. The bone scorched and blackened slightly, and smoke rose from the affected areas. She made sure to pay special attention to the sacrum, with its many holes, and slid the tip of the cauterizing tool into each. The Baby Blue twitched, but didn’t cry out— maybe he really was asleep. “It’s that simple!” she said, taking off her gloves as the camera focused back on her. “Now, this little fella will feel pretty sore for a while, but it’s nothing some cuddles won’t fix!”  
  
You tuned out the cheery ending jingle, and pushed the office chair back from the computer. Cauterizing the bone around the area, huh?

Maybe there was one thing you could try before throwing in the towel. You had the day off tomorrow, after all.

\---

Papy had turned off the glowing flesh display when you checked on him in the morning, and you reluctantly let him out of the cage and allowed Leslie to kiss his skull goodbye before she left to catch the school bus. After that, the bitty knew the drill for when Leslie wasn’t around—back in the cage until she got home. He didn’t seem to remember the sickening display of the night before, and although he looked wary of you as he always did (you suspected he “knew” you didn’t like him, as much as he could know anything), he ate the bitty chow you put in his bowl without complaint.

When he began to sway on his feet and eventually collapsed on the blanketed floor of the cage, you sprang into action. You picked Papy up with a washcloth, and walked briskly into the garage, where you’d laid out a stout piece of wood, a pair of thick gloves, your staple gun, and… the soldering iron.

Official, corporate sponsored bitty neutering procedure? Five hundred dollars. Soldering iron and a couple Benadryl? About five bucks. You’d always been handy, after all.

You laid the unconscious Papy on his back on the piece of wood, and stapled across his wrists and ankles (which you’d spread as far apart as they would go) to keep him still. After thinking for a moment, you added a staple across his spine, below his ribs, just in case. You tried to work fast, not knowing if or how long the medicine would keep him asleep. The soldering iron was plugged in and looked hot, so you pulled on the work gloves and took a deep breath.

_Just like in the video_, you thought, as you lowered the pen-like instrument’s tip to Papy’s pelvis, where just hours before his dripping ecto-pussy had manifested itself.

You didn’t know what you’d expected when you touched the hot tool to the bone, but you really hadn’t expected the bitty’s eyes to snap open right away.

Papy began wailing wordlessly in pain, thrashing as much as the staples would let him… which wasn’t much, you noted, as you took several more breaths to steady yourself from the surprise. This didn’t change a thing, you thought to yourself. It wasn’t really alive, it didn’t truly feel pain. It was this, or tell Leslie her little skeleton friend had met with an unfortunate accident when she came home from school. You had started this, and you would finish it.

You resumed running the smoking soldering iron along the bony hole at the bottom of Papy’s pelvis, doing your best to tune out his cries, trying hard and failing not to look at his face, which was the picture of absolute agony. His tears ran down his cheeks and dampened the wood beneath him, and his eyes seemed to roll back in his head. The bitty mindlessly yanked at the staples around his arms, desperately tried to close his legs, to no avail. You weren’t stopping until this was done. 

You moved the iron over the pelvis clockwise, then counterclockwise, watching the bone brown and then blacken. Papy’s struggles seemed to be growing weaker, and he had begun to sob out actual words. “Whyyyyyy… why why why… huuuuurts…” he moaned, which you did your best to tune out. “Please… no… Daddy, stop, stop…” was eminently harder to ignore, and one hundred times more infuriating. You’d never liked the creepy little freak, and that was really the last straw.

You lifted the iron from Papy’s pelvis, and focused on his face. The bitty slowly came back to lucidity, and met your gaze. You made sure he was watching as you moved the iron toward his ribs, then under, barely a hairsbreadth away from his glowing orange “soul.” You knew that this part was integral to his continued functioning, and knew that he understood the threat when he completely ceased moving. “You need to understand something,” you started. “Are you listening?”

Papy nodded slowly, fresh tears rolling from his eyes.

“I… am not… your daddy. You’re Leslie’s toy, and that’s all you are. You were made in a lab—you don’t _have_ a mommy and daddy. If she hadn’t wanted you here, or if she had gotten tired of you, I wouldn’t allow you in my house,” you continued, moving the iron through the air over the bitty’s ribs idly. “I’m doing this to prevent more of the disgusting display you put on last night, so you don’t traumatize my child any more than you already have. As far as I’m concerned… you’re garbage as soon as she’s done with you,” you concluded, putting the soldering iron down at last.

“But…” the bitty started to speak, cutting himself off as soon as he saw the hammer you held in your hand. Then Papy began trembling in fear, and murmuring a stream of soft “please, please, no, don’t,” ending only when you used the back of the hammer to pry up the staples holding him in place. The bitty scrambled backward away from you, hugging his knees and trying to make himself small.

“Leslie hears about none of this, do you understand me?” you asked, pointing a finger at the still-shaking skeleton.  
The bitty nodded mutely.

“If she asks, you tell her you went to the bitty doctor for an operation, you hear me?” 

Another silent nod.

“I hear anything different out of you… well…” At this, you reached out and lifted the trembling bitty with your left hand (ignoring his weak struggles), closing your right forefinger and thumb around the bottom of his jaw, opening and closing it over his protests. “You don’t really _need_ to talk, after all,” you concluded, letting Papy make his own assumptions as to what punishment you had in mind.

The bitty began to cry again, even reaching out to try to hug your wrist for comfort, before remembering who had made him cry in the first place.

“You keep quiet, and you keep your revolting little body parts to yourself, and this never needs to happen again,” you told him, putting him back in his cage and carrying it up to Leslie’s room.

As you walked out of the room and closed the door behind you, you said a silent prayer that soon your daughter would discover boys, or horses, and leave her affection for Papy where it belonged—in the dust.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and ideas are always appreciated!


End file.
